


All I Need in This Life of Sin

by saturnsthirdeye



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Yennefer, Bodyguard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hookups to lovers, I promise, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor substance abuse, Modern AU, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Substance Abuse, Torture, Valdo Marx is a shithead, Violence, a bit of a darker fic, but not to the main protagonists, if that makes sense, minor alcohol abuse, sort of songfic too, will add tags as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnsthirdeye/pseuds/saturnsthirdeye
Summary: In a city split by gangs, a pair meet in a club. Joining together for a night, Geralt and Jaskier can’t resist the pull towards the other, drawing steadily closer with each interaction. However, when tragedy strikes and lines once crossed become barriers once again, will the couple be able to hold onto each other and survive the storm threatening to tear them apart for good?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 48





	1. Magnetic Everything About You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to this wonderful fic! This was born through some brainstorming with my good friend and beta Maya (MugOfStars) and I am very excited to present it to you all!
> 
> This fic is much grittier than my last one, but I will also be presenting a softer story soon!
> 
> This fic will not update as quickly as my last one, seeing as I will be working on two fics at once, but they will be beta’d which is a step up. The fic title comes from the song “‘03 Bonnie and Clyde” by Jay-Z (kudos to Maya for that fantastic title).
> 
> Some important notes: this fic will include graphic depictions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of PTSD-induced flashbacks, mentions of (relatively mild) substance abuse such as drinking and using sleeping pills and caffeine in not great ways, and graphic depictions of violence. There will be aspects of this fic that are very dark and there will be quite a bit of angst, but I do promise a happy ending. These two fools will not be great to each other all of the time, and there will be some unhealthy aspects, and while they are far from abusive to each other I still like to add warnings so everyone is comfortable :) if you want unadulterated softness, then the story I will be posting soon outside of this is for you. So stay tuned!
> 
> Otherwise, let the show begin! Chapter 1 title from “Hypnotic” by Zella Day. I highly recommend the Vanic Remix for this chapter’s vibes.

Geralt is not the club type.

For a few reasons, really. For starters, his senses tend to be incredibly sensitive at times, and sudden loud sounds or bright flashes of lights can easily cause him to become incredibly overstimulated. Sometimes, however, he can handle the violation of his senses, the press of bodies, or the human interaction better than normal, but he would have to be incredibly distracted or comfortable with someone. It’s not a fun risk to guess which will happen- he has fun, or he ends up in a corner with his heart pounding and trying to breathe right. 

Another reason is his appearance. People tend to stare when they see him, and who is he to judge? He’s huge in stature, his white hair and striking golden eyes doing nothing to help. On top of that, clubs usually involved showing skin, and seeing as he was a high-ranking bodyguard for even higher-ranking members of the Wolf Pack mafia, scars littered said skin, even as a massive, inked griffin climbed up his left forearm and covered a few of the marks. 

He has voiced these things to anyone who actually thought to invite him to a club, so he hasn't been to one actively since he was maybe 19. Even his clients didn’t bring him anymore to guard- as much as you did _anything_ the mafia ordered, no questions asked, they learned very quickly that a bodyguard is useless if he’s having a panic attack. 

So no clubs for Geralt. Simple as that. 

And yet, here he is, dressed in a sleek black vest over a black dress shirt, which is tucked into ripped black jeans. His black boot scuffs the ground nervously as he plays with his watch, tracing the familiar marks on the steel accessory with his fingers, the thick ring on his pointer finger clinking against the metal. His wolf pendant sits heavy on his sternum, and he can feel the weight of the half dozen black rings pierced up his ear. 

“You don’t have to go into the club area, the bar is in a separate space,” Yennefer had promised the week prior in response to Geralt’s glare. The young bartender had finally managed to make enough to upgrade her small establishment into a much larger bar and club, her popularity coming from the delicious drinks, the foodservice, and the fact that it was the one place in a few towns where anyone could enter, even rival gang members, and not find strife. Yennefer held a solid “All Welcome, No Violence” rule as well as a ban against gang activity, the woman practically being a bouncer in herself. With folks happy to find a neutral place to mingle, her popularity spiked. And of course, she would invite Geralt, her childhood friend, to the grand reopening. 

He was hesitant at first, but he was more willing to support his friend than anything. She promised him quiet places to just enjoy the drinks, and so Geralt was happy to meet her halfway. 

As the line inches forward, he checks his phone. No new clients or requests, nothing on his screen. Looks like the evening is his. 

He reaches the door and doesn’t even have to hold up his ID before he’s let in. Benefits of being the owner’s close friend, and for looking so unique, he supposes. 

Inside, the bar is packed. The room itself is almost like a restaurant, with tables all around and servers flitting in and out servings drinks and appetizers. People are chatting and laughing, dressed in bright colors, and showing skin and jewelry. The bar itself is sleek and not as terribly crowded as a result of the plethora of tables, and he can recognize across the room the curled locks of Triss Merigold as she bounces around behind the bar, helping make and serve drinks with another young woman, her blond locks tucked away as she greets customers. 

The lights aren’t horribly dim, the bright sign above the bar menu saying “ARETUZA” as it sheds a violet neon light upon the large room. The heavy thrum of bass can be heard muffled throughout, and Geralt spies a pair of large doors labeled “WITCHES LAIR” as he walks further. That must be the club. 

He approaches the bar, squeezing past a few 20 somethings right as Triss sees him. 

“Oh, Geralt!” She chirps happily, holding out a hand excitedly in greeting. He takes it and squeezes her fingers gently with a small smile. “I’m so glad you could come! Yennefer should be around here somewhere-“

“Somewhere is here,” replies a smooth, amused voice from behind Geralt. He turns and smiles wider at the sight of his childhood friend, who is dressed in a chic black and silver romper, thick black heels, and adorned with gorgeous silver jewelry. She smiles wide at him as well and hugs him tightly. “I’m so glad you could make it. I reserved a table for you.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow as he pulls away. “Yennefer, you shouldn’t have,” he says warmly, her actions touching his heart. She shrugs, and takes his hand, leading him to a booth near the wall, away from most of the chaos. 

He slides into the booth and she sits opposite him, her violet eyes bright with adrenaline and excitement. “This is so amazing, Geralt-“ she breathes, and he squeezes her fingers gently. “So many people are here- I knew the bar was going well, but I wasn’t expecting _this_.”

“You deserve it,” Geralt replies. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

This earns a truly happy look before Yennefer glances up at the waiter as he approaches the table. 

“Ma’am-“ the man says brightly. “Some guests wish to give their congratulations to the host.”

Yennefer nods, taking a deep breath and fussing with her already perfect black curls before standing. 

“Duty calls,” she says to Geralt in way of apology, but he simply waves his hand. 

“Go be great,” he says, and her eyes gleam. 

“Everything he orders is on the house,” she tells the waiter, who nods his head with a “yes ma’am” as she bustles away. 

Geralt pulls up the menu and orders a dark, reddish-violet drink lovingly labeled ’Blood and Wine’, and the waiter flits away before returning just a few minutes later with his drink. It’s delicious, of course- Triss knows how to mix, that’s for certain. 

As Geralt sips his drink, he simply watches. He watches the waiters and the bartenders do their jobs, mildly entranced by their fluid movements. He watches the couples and the groups, the people pouring in and out of the club room. The heavy thump of music settles deep into his chest, an almost comforting feeling. He’s busy curiously studying the menu when someone slides into the booth across from him. 

Geralt blinks, expecting to see a drunkard, but the young man in front of him doesn’t seem to be terribly intoxicated, his blue eyes clear and curious. He’s wearing a form-fitting blue and yellow dress shirt, the buttons undone enough to hint at a chest covered in dark hair, a simple gold chain sitting on his sternum. The man looks young, probably no older than 25- his skin is smooth with youth and his smile is playful and mischievous. His brown hair is messy and his ears are adorned with a number of dangly gold earrings, hands adorned with simple, shiny rings crossed on the table. 

Overall, Geralt would describe the young man as pretty. And shiny. 

“I can’t help but notice you sitting here all by your lonesome,” the man begins, and Geralt snorts. 

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” he replies dryly, taking a sip of his drink, and the man flushes deeper than before, in embarrassment, it seems. The determined look doesn’t leave his face, however. 

“You are no damsel, that is definitely correct,” the stranger chuckles awkwardly. “Definitely as gorgeous as one, though.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt hummed, looking the man over again, abandoning subtlety. The stranger preens a little under the attention before Geralt smirks. “You don’t flirt with men often, do you.” It’s not a question.

The man scratches the back of his neck with slim fingers and shrugs. “Not as often as women, I will admit. Though, it’s difficult to find a man I could truly describe as gorgeous these days.”

“And I take it I fit that criterion?”

The stranger shrugs again, winking cheekily. “I’m here, aren’t I? Are you here with anyone?”

Geralt smiles slightly behind his drink. “Nope. I came to visit the host, but it seems she is busy,” he replies, letting himself go along with the man’s antics. This earns him a wide grin. 

“Then let me buy you a drink. Or offer you a dance.”

Geralt hums. “I get my drinks for free already, so I suppose I should offer you one.” At the man’s blink and stutter of surprise, he flags the waiter down and looks at the stranger as he requests a drink. He orders and looks at Geralt, stunned. 

“I suppose I owe you, then.” The stranger holds out a hand to shake. “Name’s Jaskier.”

Geralt looks upon it for a moment before clasping it in his own, finding Jaskier’s palm to be surprisingly rough and pleasantly cool. “Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt.”

As Jaskier’s drink arrives, a small, colorful thing, Geralt finishes his own. “So, _Jaskier_. Are _you_ here alone?” 

Jaskier sips his drink and gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “Here with friends, though they know I’m here with you right now. You’re like a magnet, my dear Geralt.” They both knew he was laying it on thick, but it’s been so long since Geralt has flirted like this that he finds himself having fun. 

“A magnet? I wouldn’t call drawing one little bird to me being a magnet,” he says with a smirk, and Jaskier chokes on his drink, face practically flaming. 

“Well-“ he coughs, and Geralt slides him his water. Jaskier takes it with a grateful look. “Well, it certainly worked on me. Please, may I offer you a dance?”

Geralt can’t help but roll his eyes at the phrasing- one would have thought they were at a fancy ball instead of a club. “I’m not the dancing type.” 

“If you don’t have fun, we can leave. But I must insist.”

Geralt thinks about it, thinks about the thick bounce of the bass, and decides fuck it. He stands and looks at Jaskier expectantly. 

“Well?” He asks expectantly, and the smaller man’s eyes widen before he springs up, smiling brightly as he takes Geralt’s hand hesitantly. When the bodyguard doesn’t pull away, he relaxes, pulling him into the club and into the massive throng of moving bodies. 

Geralt stiffens a little as they enter, the strobe lights flickering as the beat drops, the oppressive heat of the room seeping under his shirt. His heart beats quicker, and he swallows before Jaskier crowds up in front of him. 

Almost as if he could sense Geralt’s hesitation, the young man’s grin softens. “Just move your body, and watch me, yeah?” He says over the music as they are pressed on all sides by bouncing bodies. He takes Geralt's hands and guides them to sit on slim hips, and Geralt exhales shakily. “Good.”

It takes a moment for Geralt to get in the groove of it, the heady thrum of the music seeming to press in on his body instead of moving it along. Jaskier gives him a sweet look of encouragement and simply dances, all rolling hips and bouncing feet, and Geralt relaxes. This man in front of him is intoxicating to Geralt, and his contagious enthusiasm has Geralt moving with him to the rhythm. Jaskier seems to blossom like a flower as he gets into it, delicate hands sliding up to rest on Geralt’s shoulders. 

In such a crowded space, dancing is barely more than organized grinding, sweaty bodies pushing and pulling from each other in a messy rhythm, but Geralt can’t find himself minding as he watches the slim man in front of him move like he had practiced it for hours, weeks, years. They get closer and are moving in a sort of tandem as Jaskier mouths the words to the music that fills the air like smoke with a coy smile, and Geralt simply moves with him. 

It’s fun, but eventually, the heat surrounding Geralt and the heat starting to pool in his stomach edge on too much, and he squeezes Jaskier’s hips in warning. He pulls him closer, mouth near his companion’s ear. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Jaskier’s hand slides down to clutch Geralt’s in response as he pulls him back towards the bar, Geralt asking for a pair of water bottles before they stumble out of the club into the cool night air. As Jaskier pulls him down the street by the hand, he downs the bottle, the cool liquid reviving him quickly. Jaskier watches him with a quirked eyebrow as he finishes chugging it, eyes on his throat. 

“What?” Geralt asks with a smirk and Jaskier laughs under his breath. 

“I’m just hoping your place is close because mine sure isn’t,” he admits, and Geralt gives him a knowing look. 

“Won’t be a problem.”

It takes them about five minutes to reach Geralt’s apartment, and Jaskier is practically vibrating with energy as Geralt struggles to pull out the key. The smaller man is already pressing little kisses to Geralt’s jaw just under his beard as he opens the door, and they stumble inside with little grace. The door is closed and locked, and something in Geralt snaps. With hands on Jaskier’s hips once again, he pushes his smaller companion against the wall, pressing against him firmly as he kisses him. 

Jaskier’s lips are soft under Geralt’s and his body warm and pliant, arms coming up to rest on firm shoulders, fingers playing with the ponytail that sits above Geralt’s soft shaved sides. The colorful man hums happily and gods, he knows what he’s doing. Geralt feels sharp teeth nip at his lower lip, feels the top of a hot, wet tongue meet his own delicately, teasing. He pulls away to gather his bearings, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along a sharp jawline and along Jaskier’s smooth neck. 

He feels Jaskier shiver as his coarse facial hair brushes against sensitive skin, and hears him gasp as he nips at his collarbone. Geralt can’t help but start to work on Jaskier’s buttons, the shiny metal smooth against Geralt’s fingers as he slowly undoes the colorful shirt. 

“Fuck- you wouldn’t happen to have a bed, would you?” Jaskier breathes, and Geralt can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. Large, calloused hands slide underneath Jaskier’s thighs and hoist him up, the smaller man needing no further prompting as he wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. 

The walk to the bedroom feels like eternity, but they get there, the space large and meticulously clean. Jaskier is unceremoniously tossed onto the mattress with a small “oof”, and Geralt starts undoing his vest with deft fingers. 

“Damn- you look even better in actual lighting,” Jaskier sighs as he turns on the lamp by the bed. 

(As fun as a tryst in the dark would be, Geralt had one of those rooms where you can barely see your own hand in front of your face with the lights off. He also kept forgetting to buy nightlights. So as much as it sucked for his rare partners to see his many scars, it sucked less than going down on someone and getting a knee in the jaw because you can’t fucking see.)

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, hungry eyes taking over Jaskier. He’s a sight to behold, in Geralt’s bed with lips red and shirt open messily, the tent in black dress pants undeniable. He drops the vest and sheds his boots, undoing his belt as he crawls over Jaskier. He kisses at his companion’s neck messily, tossing the belt aside and sliding rough hands along Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier gasps as a careful hand pinches one of his nipples, and whines low in his throat as a warm tongue smooths over the bud. 

“Off- I want this off-“ the brunette demands, already working to pull off Geralt’s shirt. He simply lets him, hearing Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat as the thick, gnarly scars are revealed. Geralt pulls off Jaskier’s shirt, tossing it aside and pressing a kiss to the circlet of buttercups inked on Jaskier’s bicep, nipping at the dagger and dandelion tattoo on his ribs. 

Geralt shivers as cool air touches his skin and feels deft fingers touch the wolf sitting over his heart, matching his medallion. It’s the symbol of loyalty he wears to the gang that owns him, worn on his chest and inked permanently over his heart. Sometimes he resents it. 

“A wolf, huh?” Jaskier purrs, hand sliding down and cupping Geralt roughly through his pants. “Gonna howl for me?”

Geralt glares at him, the look having no real heat as Jaskier grins playfully. He rolls his hips into the touch, nipping at Jaskier’s navel. 

“Won’t be me howling,” he snarks back, but is quickly pushed off of Jaskier. He blinks in confusion before he’s pushed down onto the mattress, Jaskier crawling over him with a dangerous look in his eye. 

“I did say I owe you,” Jaskier hums. He kisses down the scarred torso, quickly undoing Geralt’s buttons and shoving the dark jeans down with his boxers in tow. Geralt groans as his dick is exposed to the cool air, Jaskier making a noise of appreciation at the sight. 

Geralt is decently big, he won’t deny it. But Jaskier is practically salivating as he strokes him slowly, licking his lips as he scoots down. He’s spurred on by the low rumble in Geralt’s throat, eventually dipping his head down as he licks a stripe up the underside of his cock.

Geralt groans, fingers curling in Jaskier’s hair as he furrows his brows. “Is that-?” 

Jaskier winks playfully at that, poking his tongue out to reveal what Geralt knew about instantly- the little silver ball sits neatly on Jaskier’s tongue, seemingly innocent. There’s nothing innocent about it, however, as Jaskier’s head dips again, sliding Geralt’s cock slowly into his mouth as his tongue presses against the head, the little piercing pressing into the slit as Geralt holds back a moan, legs falling open. 

His fingers tighten in Jaskier’s hair as he moves, taking as much of it as he can with a deft tongue flicking and swirling around him, coaxing low moans and sighs from Geralt. The white-haired man groans as the heat in his gut tightens, guiding Jaskier’s head with firm movements. 

“Fuck-“ he chokes out, throwing his head back as Jaskier sinks down impossibly lower, taking his dick into his throat. “Jaskier, I- _fuck_.”

Jaskier pulls off at that, wiping at his jaw with a hand. “Damn,” he sighs, catching his breath, as Geralt strokes his hair. “You’re just a regular Adonis, huh?”

Geralt snorts and pulls Jaskier up for a kiss. He slides his hands down Jaskier’s back, slipping his fingers down a tight waistband. He squeezes Jaskier’s ass, and slim hips grind shamelessly against his thigh. With a bit of combined work, the dress pants are shed, Jaskier pulling away to slide them fully off. As he does so, Geralt grabs a condom and lube from his nightstand, the new angle causing him to see a flash of red and black peeking from Jaskier’s shoulder. He draws the pretty man closer, kissing up his neck as a calloused hand wraps around his dick, stroking slowly. 

“What’s this on your shoulder?” Geralt purrs as Jaskier gasps against him, rocking his hips into his hand in a messy rhythm. 

“Oh- ah… it’s a rose,” Jaskier admits hesitantly, and Geralt’s stomach drops. “A red rose.”

Well, fuck, that changes things, doesn’t it? And yet Geralt kisses him roughly anyway, kisses the man that bears the mark of the one gang that Geralt absolutely cannot associate himself with. 

The Lettenhove Organization. Known for their cunning ruthlessness, the ability to break men down to their base components, they were the only gang that the Wolf Pack truly clashed with. They teetered constantly at the edge of a full-on war, both sides pressing their boundaries as much as possible. 

And here Geralt was, about to fuck one of the pretty boys of the group that would _really_ like him dead. 

Jaskier pulls away just enough to give Geralt a nervous, crooked grin, pausing the desperate roll of his hips. “This isn’t a dealbreaker, is it?”

Geralt pauses, thinking about it. All groups knew no funny business at Aretuza, for who would want to potentially hurt such a good thing? He could check the place for bugs when he left to make sure. Besides, as small as Jaskier is in comparison to Geralt’s muscular bulk, that makes him the one who’s in the most danger. 

“On your back,” is all he says, and the tension bleeds from Jaskier’s shoulders with a relieved sigh. He falls back, looking up at Geralt with big blue eyes, arms above his head as his thighs fall open, and gods, if that isn’t a sight to see. 

Geralt quickly slicks up his fingers, sliding one carefully into Jaskier as he nips and kisses his thigh, his stomach, his hips. The brunette shivers and sighs at the breach, Geralt rocking his finger in and out of his hole with careful movements. When he can feel the slim body beneath his squirm impatiently, he adds a second finger, then a third. He can feel the pad of his finger press against something firm, and Jaskier jolts, keening loudly. 

“Oh, _fuck_ Geralt, there, right there-“ he moans, rocking down on Geralt’s fingers in a desperate attempt to chase the feeling. “Please, please, I need you-“

Geralt groans at his begging, the words going straight to his cock. He presses against the spot again, watching Jaskier’s back arch, his fingers curling in the sheets. “You think you’re ready for me?”

This earns him a whine and a nod, and Geralt removes his fingers. Jaskier watches him with heady blue eyes as he rolls on the condom and slicks himself up, breath heaving as Geralt slowly pushes into him. Jaskier’s breath catches as Geralt rocks his hips slowly, giving him time to get used to the stretch. 

Eventually, Geralt is sheathed fully in him, Jaskier’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist as his chest heaves. Geralt squeezes his thighs. 

“Fuck, you’re- you’re huge in every way, fuck-“ Jaskier groans, stroking himself slowly. “Please- please move-“ he adds after a few moments of adjustment, clearly getting antsy as he wriggles under the larger man. Geralt smirks and rolls his hips forward, and when Jaskier moans in pleasure, he sets a steady rhythm. Jaskier’s breath is punched out of him with each sharp thrust, eyes fluttering shut as his hands squeeze the sheets tightly. Geralt bows over him, framing himself on his elbows. This changes his angle, hitting Jaskier’s sweet spot again and again and again, causing those nimble hands to fly up around Geralt’s neck and shoulders. 

They rock like that, Geralt fucking him sharply and ruthlessly, Jaskier’s fingernails leaving little crescent shapes on scarred skin as his moans increase in pitch. 

“Geralt-“ Jaskier hisses, breath shaking. “I- I’m so close-“ and Geralt groans, echoing the sentiment. He moves his hand from where it’s resting by Jaskier’s head, curling his fingers around Jaskier’s dick and stroking roughly as his hips stutter in their rhythm. From there, it only takes a few moments before Jaskier’s back is arching as he comes between them with a shout, Geralt’s hand working him over as he tenses. Geralt himself rocks a few more times before he groans low in his chest, hips stuttering as he comes as well. 

They sit like that for a few moments, catching their breath as they come down from their highs. Geralt pulls out and Jaskier whines weakly, watching the larger man as he ties the condom off and tosses it out. He leaves, giving Jaskier a promising pat on the hip as he does so, shortly returning and carefully cleaning him. Jaskier watches him, face flushed as Geralt takes care of him. He’s definitely a bit marked up, small bruises decorating his hips and stomach, but he doesn’t seem to care a bit. 

“Thank you,” he says gratefully as he’s cleaned and handed the bottle of water he had from earlier. Bottle soon empty, he stands and dresses, his steps admirable if shaky. “Maybe we can do this again sometime,” he adds with a wink and Geralt’s mouth quirks into a small smile. 

“Perhaps,” he replies, keeping silent what they both know: for their own safety, this will not be repeating. The thought is pleasant, however. 

Jaskier, now dressed, moves towards him and kisses him, surprising Geralt. Jaskier then stands and blows him a kiss with a wink as he saunters out. 

“I’ll see myself out.”

Geralt watches him leave from his bedroom doorway, cleaning up his clothes before locking the door and turning off the lights. And then he collapses into the deepest sleep he’s had in months. 

——————

Aretuza is closed when Jaskier arrives the next day, two coffees in his hands. It’s a stark contrast to the thrumming hub of energy and people that I tear the night before, but that makes sense, seeing as it’s noon, and he’s behind the club instead of in front. 

He sets the second coffee down on a ledge, thumb typing with practiced ease before pressing send. It only takes a few moments for the door to open, and he’s welcomed in by Yennefer. She’s wearing a chic black v-neck top and black skinny jeans, heels clicking on the lacquered wood of the club floor. 

“Jaskier!” She says happily, hugging him with a warm smile. Jaskier grins as well, returning the embrace readily. “I’m glad to see you!”

“I’m glad to be here,” he responds as she leads him through the big, empty club into the quiet bar and restaurant area. He sits down, taking a sip of his own frappe. “I figured I owed you something for leaving without saying goodbye,” he adds sheepishly, and Yennefer fixes him with a raised eyebrow and a grin as she sits across from him. 

“I was going to mention that, but then I remembered who I’m talking with,” she snarks back, and Jaskier gasps in mock offense. 

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“Yes.”

Neither can hold back a laugh at that, and Jaskier sighs. “Okay, you got me. But damn, if you had seen this guy-“ the man fans his face and Yennefer laughs again. “Absolutely gorgeous, sculpted body, long hair, those _eyes_? And he was such a sweetheart, offered me a drink…” Jaskier pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “Said he got free drinks from the host?”

“From that description,” Yennefer interrupts with a coy look, “You met Geralt. White hair? Snarky but sweet?”

“Yes! Him!” Jaskier leans back in his seat and exhales luxuriously. “Man, one of the best hookups I’ve ever had too. How do you know him? You never mentioned him at school.”

Yennefer shrugs. “I’ve known him for a bit longer than I’ve known you. Poor kid didn’t have a great life in the gangs, so he came to me for help sometimes. I just never mentioned him because… well…”

“He’s a Wolf, and you’d get your ass kicked if you hung out with both Roses and Wolves?” Jaskier offers, remembering the sharp grey tattoo on pale skin, a sign of loyalty. How his stomach dropped when he saw the clean ink, how his heart pounded when he realized the consequences of interacting in such a way with someone he swore off, how fucked they’d both be if any of their peers knew they did what they did… 

Yennefer nodded. “That’s why Aretuza is a truce zone. So I can solidify my status as a neutral party and be able to see both of my good friends.”

“That’s smart,” the slim man admits, sipping his coffee. 

Yenn snorts. “Smarter than what you did. Just hope no one in either organization figures out you slept with him or you’ll both be dead by morning. Neutral zone or not.”

It’s at that moment that they both flinch in surprise as Yennefer’s phone buzzes on the table. She picks it up and smirks as she reads the notification. “Speak of the devil- looks like I’ll have two men groveling today.” Jaskier opens his mouth to object, he wasn’t _groveling_ , excuse her, but she rolls her eyes. “Don’t start. You brought me coffee. Shouldn’t you be getting to work anyway?”

“I couldn’t help but say hello to my favorite lady,” he replies with a playful wink, and she grins.

“Get out of here, Jaskier,” she scolds, but there’s no real heat to it. “If I hear you got your ass kicked because you were late again, I’m not going to be the one stitching the wound.”

Jaskier stands with an indignant huff, but bends down anyway so she can give his cheek a friendly peck. “I won’t be late. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She graces him with an eye roll and a wave as he bounces out of the building, playful as usual.

——————

“You’re late.”

“Oh lighten up, Valdo,” Jaskier says to the man with a sigh as he strolls into his workroom, draping his jacket over a chair and taking off his jewelry. He was clad in his usual work garb, which he tried to dress up: Black jeans and a black tee tucked into his waistband. He likes to dress it up with accessories and jackets, like today’s sharp cherry-red bomber and delicate gold chains and earrings and rings. 

However, his job has the tendency to occasionally get _messy_ , so for the actual work, black it is. Black doesn’t stain. 

“It’s unprofessional. It’s a shock they even let you keep your job,” Valdo sneers, lip curled. Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“Because I’m the best. Why all the chitchat anyway?” He crosses his arms, knowing the comment would do nothing but get under his idiot colleague’s skin. “Where’s today’s client?”

Valdo gives him a disgusted once over, before tipping his head to a closed door. “He’s here already, and I’ve already worked with him a bit. Because you’re _late_.”

“Right, right, yes. Thank you, you’re excused,” Jaskier interrupts, waving his hand dismissively. It is with glee that he sees Valdo’s eyebrow twitch before simply turning and strutting out of the room. Oh, how Jaskier despises that man! 

Now alone, Jaskier can get to work. He allows himself to sit and relax, to prepare himself. Working with clients is exhausting, and as he sits and lets himself slip into a professional mindset, he hopes today will be an easy day.

Jaskier opens his eyes after a while and grins. He stands with a fluid motion, rolling his shoulders before approaching the door. He pulls it open, raising an eyebrow almost playfully at the man before him, looking at him with wide green eyes. 

“My name is Julian. It’s nice to meet you,” Jaskier purrs, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

Locking it. 

“Let’s get to work, shall we?”


	2. No, I Don’t Know How To Forget You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that opposites attract, and these two are no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because AO3 sometimes sucks I couldn’t add notes to the end of my first chapter :( regrettably
> 
> However I can add them here! A few notes, thank you guys so much for the positivity for the first chapter! So much positive feedback so soon means so much!
> 
> Some notes: I am going to be mixing game and show canons a whole bunch in this and probably every other fic I write. Canon is my playground! But this fic has Game!Geralt and Show!Jaskier, and will include characters that are in both!  
> This fic does have some heavy themes, yes, but those won’t show up til later. For now, have some sweet pining idiots!
> 
> Also this fic will switch back and forth between POVs
> 
> Each chapter title is from a song that I feel fits that chapter, so this chapter’s title is from “sex” by EDEN! It fits to a T ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Geralt is not the club type. 

He knows this, everyone knows this, it’s just common knowledge. 

So when he’s standing in line again, dressed in a sleek black sleeveless button down and the same black jeans, he’s not entirely sure why.

_”Did you really hook up with a Rose?” Yennefer asks Geralt as he arrives at the empty club with a bottle of her favorite wine in one hand. Geralt sighs, but his heart thuds painfully in his chest._

_“Don’t worry, you know I won’t tell anyone,” Yenn adds with an eye roll, patting Geralt’s forearm as he settles in the seat across from her._

_“How did you even find out?” Geralt asks and Yennefer gives him a sly grin._

_“I heard it from the horse’s mouth, my dear,” she practically purrs and Geralt’s eyes widen. “He’s a friend of mine- known him for almost as long as I’ve known you. We chat pretty regularly, actually.”_

_Geralt blinks. “Huh.” Interesting. Honestly, normally a hookup wouldn’t be such a big deal, but the fact that they were so different in such an important aspect…_

_That, and the fact that Geralt felt drawn to him like a magnet._

_“He also went on about how good you are,” she added with a wink and Geralt groans._

The line moves, and Geralt blinks snapped out of his reverie. He’s at the door now and is quickly let in. 

Geralt takes in the surroundings- everything just the same as it was when he first went last week, yet slightly different. New night, new people. He sits in the same booth as before and orders the same drink, and he just sits and drinks and looks at his phone.

He’s not sure why he came. As time passes, Geralt feels more and more foolish. Why did he think this was a good idea? He didn’t like dancing much, he came alone and wasn't about to crash into a different group- Geralt sighs. He puts cash down on the table to pay for the tip and stands, heading towards the door. 

He gets just a few steps away from the exit when a hand touches his wrist. 

“Geralt?”

And suddenly, with a little lurch in his stomach, he realizes why he went to the bright, loud bar and club. Geralt turns and sees shining blue eyes peering at him curiously, the color emphasized by the smoky eyeliner and gold leaf surrounding Jaskier’s eyelids. 

Geralt has barely interacted with this man. It was literally just one hookup, a common occurrence to many. 

So why does Geralt feel so drawn to him?

“Hey,“ Geralt says after a moment, and Jaskier grins. 

“Hey,” the brunette replies, curling his thumbs in his own belt loops. “I’m surprised to see you again.”

Geralt feels a hint of guilt- what was he doing? This poor man was probably uncomfortable, thinking he was following him or some shit. “I hope that’s not a bad thing. You seeing me here again.”

Jaskier shrugs, but his eyes are playful. “I’m glad I did. You just didn’t seem like much of a club type when I saw you, that’s all. It’s a public place anyway, so who am I to stop you?” 

Geralt felt his ears heat up at that, feeling even more like a fool. Why was he making this such a big deal? “That’s true,” he mumbles, which earns him a small chuckle. 

Jaskier scratches the back of his neck, a flustered looking gesture before admitting, “I really don’t mind seeing you here again, though.”

Geralt blinks at that before a smirk creeps onto his face. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Jaskier’s eyes practically gleam in the dim lighting. “Absolutely.”

Hand in hand they leave, grinning like a pair of mischievous teenagers, and when Geralt is pushing into him again, when Jaskier is gasping Geralt’s name like a prayer, he can’t help but think he can feel the tattoo over his heart sting just a little. 

——————

They meet again. 

And again. 

And _again._

Jaskier feels himself drawn towards Aretuza like magic, saying hello to Yennefer (who is starting to give him a knowing look each time he enters), as he downs a shot or sips from a glass before venturing onto the dance floor. It’s almost like clockwork, as he ventures back into the bar area he usually sees Geralt, sitting in that damn booth or chatting with one of the bartenders. And like clockwork, they vanish together, ignoring the ink on their bodies and the loyalty of their lives to rock together under soft sheets, lips brushing scarred skin as fingers curl around soft hair and lungs heave for breath. 

And every time, Jaskier slips away with a kiss and a wave, ever the romantic. 

Until he suddenly doesn’t stick to the script. 

Until he sees a stack of sticky notes sitting on a small table, a pen sitting on top. Until he scribbles a phone number and his name on the little piece of paper and sticks it to the door before leaving. 

Until he gets a text maybe an hour later. 

**Unknown: Jaskier?**

And Jaskier grins. 

——————

Geralt has Jaskier’s phone number. 

Jaskier insists it was so, as he so eloquently put it, they could “fuck without hoping for a chance meeting at a club with expensive drinks”.

Fair enough, Geralt supposes. 

What surprises him is Jaskier taking this leap. To most, a phone number is just a phone number, but for them, the anonymity of the club is gone. Now, they can be traced, tracked, watched. 

The thought terrifies Geralt, to be able to interact outside of the safety of Aretuza or the bed they share for the evening. But he decided to text him anyway, just Jaskier’s name before he fell asleep.

Geralt ended up waking to about 7 different texts, a chatty flurry explaining why Jaskier gave the number as if in a rush, ending with a simple “goodnight”. Geralt laughed a little at that and simply responded with ”fair enough”, which prompted another immediate text flurry.

He can’t help but laugh and approve another little rendezvous that evening. 

——————

After work one day, late in the evening when he’s eating cheap ramen, Jaskier changes things once again. 

Granted this time, it wasn’t _intentional_ , he didn’t _mean_ to send that frankly ridiculous meme article to the guy he’s been fucking for a number of weeks now (when he probably _shouldn’t_ , mind you) instead of Yennefer, he’s not even sure how he managed to pull that off, and yet as he sees the little “delivered” note on his screen, Jaskier feels a pit in his stomach. 

He almost hurls his damn phone across the room when those stupid little typing bubbles appear, and his eyes widen as he sees the response.

**Dream Man 🤤🤤: I’ve seen funnier.**

**Me: Bet  
Me: Show me peak humor then, wise guy**

When Geralt, this brooding hulk of a man, sends Jaskier a screenshot of _does Bruno Mars is gay_ of all things, he laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his noodles. 

The conversations continue and Jaskier learns that Geralt is _funny_. He’s hilarious, his humor sharp and wry, dripping with sarcasm, and sometimes Jaskier rolls his eyes and sometimes he outright laughs from the shock value of it. 

The conversations lead out of humor sometimes to just idle chatter, and Jaskier learns Geralt is sweet. He has a cat named Roach and loves animals and swords and monster myths. Conspiracy theories too. 

It’s eventually undeniable that they’ve stumbled out of being simply each other’s preferred booty call to being friends. 

With benefits, of course. Jaskier is convinced that he sold his soul to find a man who looks like _that_ and is amazing in bed to boot. 

It’s a respite to text Geralt, honestly. During a particularly rough work week, when Jaskier is feeling run down and having trouble sleeping and too busy to even have one of his little meetups, he’ll simply send Geralt an article about some cryptid or another and debate that that thing is or isn’t real. The first time his exhaustion truly hit and his mental health clearly took a dip, Geralt had asked him what was wrong, and he had brushed the subject off with a swift and clear “can we talk about something else instead?” Geralt had said sure and proceeded to go on a long-winded rant about the legend of leshens. Simple as that.

Jaskier found it endearing. Found all the information that Geralt was happy to lay on him fascinating, found talking to him as a whole just. Easy. 

“So you’ve got a girlfriend, huh?” Zoltan snorts at work one day when Jaskier is peeling off his gloves and face mask (for safety!). Jaskier laughs and shakes his head. 

“No, no. We’re just friends, I assure you,” he says, leaving out the fact that this _girl_ is in fact a _man_ and this _friend_ has railed him so hard he saw stars on multiple occasions. And that this man works for the one group of people he can never associate himself with. Details, details.

“Ha! Just friends my ass. You’re smiling at your phone so often even daft fuckin’ Marx made a comment! You’ve got it bad, kid.”

Jaskier laughs nervously with a little “if you say so”, but as he retrieves his phone and sees some dumbass horse meme, he feels his stomach flutter, a feeling that has been building slowly over the course of the few weeks they’ve been chatting as friends.

He stubbornly chooses to ignore it. 

——————

It’s been a rough week for Geralt. 

As a bodyguard, he’s tasked with protecting all of the fancy high-level guests of Emhyr, the head of the Wolf Pack mob. Which is often a pretty boring affair, where he just stands outside doors or behind chairs to make sure nothing happens to his clients. They usually leave him alone and vice versa- Geralt is pretty content just remaining a silent eye, and they seem to be content pretending he doesn’t exist unless they want to give him an order or if he’s protecting them. 

It’s a good job, and Geralt is satisfied with it. 

And then there’s _Stregobor_. 

Stregobor likes to make creepy comments to the women working and staying as guests, catcalling and looking them over with hungry eyes. Stregobor likes to bring his own guards (something that Emhyr has a very specific rule against, for his own safety), and verbally berates whichever poor bastard has to take their place. This week that poor bastard was Geralt. 

After the 17th snide comment in 4 days about the swords strapped to his back and a remark about the masculinity of Geralt’s long undercut, the bodyguard was ready to snap something. 

On top of that, he hadn’t seen Jaskier for about two weeks because of late nights and early mornings for them both. Neither talked about work to the other, save for vague details like “busy day, late nights, frustrating”, etc. They didn’t wish to talk about the lines their lives are tied to, the cause of their deaths should they be seen together. Geralt does know enough, however, to know that Jaskier was having just as terrible a time as he was. 

That’s why, the day that Stregobor _finally_ left town for whatever the fuck Emhyr sent him for, Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. 

He’s sitting at home that evening when he gets a text, and his heartbeat picks up. 

**J: please tell me you’re free tonight.**

Geralt can't help the smile that creeps across his face as he replies with the affirmative, his phone buzzing again almost immediately.

**J: I’ll be there in 15**

Geralt is all adrenaline and anticipation then, moving all around the apartment and tidying up to get rid of the feeling in his stomach. About 15 minutes later he hears the crisp knock on his apartment door, and his chest feels like it’s about to burst because standing in front of him is-

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier is wearing a loose blue shirt in crisp black jeans, boots on his feet. Geralt welcomes him in, and Jaskier smiles sheepishly as he holds up a deep green bottle. 

“I brought you some wine?” Jaskier says with a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know what kind you like, so I hope-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier stammers and Geralt takes mercy on him. He gently takes the bottle, looking at the label before setting it down on a side table. 

“This is great,” Geralt says, turning back to him, lips quirking into a small smile. “Thank you. But I really just want you to kiss me.”

“Oh thank god,” Jaskier replies, surging forward and kissing Geralt with fervor. Geralt slides his arms around Jaskier’s waist, strong arms hoisting him up with ease as he wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. 

The bodyguard brings them both to his bedroom, collapsing back onto the king-sized mattress with Jaskier on top of him. They stay like that for a bit, simply kissing slowly, Geralt’s heart beating hard in his chest. He's not used to the feeling, the thudding against his ribs caused just by being by another person, the squirmy feeling in his stomach, the warmth in his lungs. With a grunt, Geralt rolls them over and looks down at Jaskier, who looks back up at him with big blue eyes. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are red as he catches his breath, brown hair fanning over the pale grey pillowcase. Geralt’s breath hitches in his chest, and Jaskier gives him a shy smile, the barest hint of teeth. 

“What? Something on my face?” Jaskier asks with a small laugh, and Geralt can’t help but lean down and kiss under his ear. Jaskier shivers and Geralt grins.

“Thinking about how I’m going to tear you apart,” the bodyguard whispers, leaving out the vulnerable little ‘you’re fucking gorgeous’ that sits on his tongue. He pulls Jaskier’s shirt free from where it’s tucked into his pants, helping him out of it before kissing down his chest. Geralt kisses his sternum, sucks lightly on a pink nipple, nips at the smooth skin under his ribcage. All the while Jaskier squirms beneath him, his cock a hard line as it strains against his pants. 

“Geralt-“ Jaskier gasps as teeth nip at his hip bone, beard scraping against sensitive skin as Geralt sucks a small hickey just above the line of Jaskier’s waistband. “Don’t be a tease, dammit!”

Geralt chuckles and undoes the buttons on Jaskier’s jeans, pulling them off in a smooth motion to join the boots that had been kicked off earlier, taking off his own shirt as well. Jaskier _shouts_ as Geralt swallows him down in one motion, tongue flicking at the head as calloused hands hold down his hips. As his head bobs with practiced ease, Geralt can feel blunt nails scrape against his scalp as Jaskier’s fingers curl into his hair, tugging roughly. Geralt follows the guidance, golden eyes watching Jaskier’s face carefully. 

It’s not long before the brunette is whining, biting his lip as he gasps. “Geralt- shit, I’m close-“ he groans, and Geralt simply takes a deep breath and swallows him down again. Jaskier lets out a guttural groan as he spills down his throat, the burn of his long white hair being pulled causing Geralt to let out a low groan as well. 

Pulling off, Geralt smirks and makes a show of swallowing, causing Jaskier to dramatically throw an arm over his eyes. 

“Showoff,” Jaskier huffs with playful petulance, peering at Geralt under his forearm. “Good thing it’s my turn now.” He moves to sit up but Geralt puts a hand on his chest. Jaskier looks at him in confusion. “Geralt?”

“Who said I was done with you?” Geralt practically purrs and Jaskier’s eyes widen. “Now granted, say the word and-“

“Hush- I want to see what you have in store for me,” the smaller man says with an intrigued look in his eye. Geralt hums and pulls the bottle of lube and the condoms from his nightstand, slicking his fingers up. He presses one against Jaskier’s hole as he leans forward, kissing him hotly. Jaskier moans into his mouth as Geralt breaches him with his finger, searching for that sweet spot within him. Their movements become lazy, lips moving together slowly as Geralt’s finger slides in and out of Jaskier at a glacier’s pace. Suddenly, Jaskier gasps and jolts, and Geralt slides in a second finger to press against the same spot. 

“Oh-“ Jaskier moans, eyes fluttering shut as Geralt pulls away. Because of the short reprieve, Jaskier was able to start getting hard again, his dick curving against his belly. Scissoring his fingers slowly, Geralt works him up, the slim man moaning again quickly enough. As Geralt slides in a third finger, he also wraps a hand around Jaskier’s dick, the stimulation hitting him like a wave. 

“ _Fuck_ , Geralt,” Jask groans, hands curling in the sheets. “You keep doing that- fuck- you’re gonna make me come again.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, making his movements a bit rougher in the way he knows Jaskier likes, causing him to moan loudly. “Can’t have that, can we?”

Jaskier gives him a halfhearted glare, rocking down to meet the thrust of his fingers. Geralt changes his angle and Jaskier yelps, the sound melting into a moan as he’s flooded with pleasure. Geralt watches him closely, and when he sees his muscles go taut, sees the furrow in his brow Geralt’s learned to recognize as a tell, a warning, he removed his hands. Jaskier lets out a frustrated cry as he’s stopped right at the edge, as Geralt moves away to divest himself of his pants. 

“You’re the _worst_ , Geralt,” Jaskier pants, his fingers clearly itching to bring himself back to that peak but refraining. Geralt laughs, an open thing, and shrugs. 

“You say that now,” he replies with a smirk, tilting Jaskier’s chin up to give him a slow kiss. Jask sighs into the gentleness of it, fingertips ghosting across Geralt’s scarred cheek. The bodyguard pulls away to give Jaskier’s stomach a sweet kiss, rolling on the condom and slicking himself up. “Ready?”

Jaskier huffs playfully. “Get on with it, will you?” He snarks, but he’s cut off by a gasp as Geralt pushes into him and nips at his shoulder. He moves slowly (despite Jaskier’s urging for him to _please move faster, dammit_ ) until his hips are pressed against Jaskier’s ass, until Jaskier is sighing beneath him, their foreheads pressed together. Geralt waits until Jaskier grows impatient, urging him on before moving slowly, drawing low moans of pleasure from the smaller man’s throat. 

“Fuck- Geralt, _please_ ,” Jask begs, eyes dark and heavy, and Geralt moves faster for him, setting a punishingly rough pace that he knows Jaskier loves, one that causes him to arch his back and practically scream as his prostate is hit again and again.

It’s not long after that before they’re both close, before the brunette is pulling Geralt into a bruising kiss as he spills between them with a sharp jolt, brought to his peak quickly and mercilessly. As Geralt slows, holds him through it, he spills into the condom with his own low groan. They stay still like that for what could be a minute or an hour, simply breathing with their foreheads together, nosing at damp cheeks and kissing eyelids softly. It’s intimate, more intimate than they have been before, and Geralt’s heart swells. 

Eventually, he pulls out and takes care of the condom, grabbing a glass of water, a granola bar, and a damp rag. When he returns, Jaskier is dozing lightly in his bed, chest rising and falling softly. Geralt smiles and gently cleans him up, waking him up enough to give him water before the smaller man yawns loudly. 

“Mmm… tired,” Jaskier sighs, and Geralt kisses his forehead. He finishes tidying up before crawling into bed, tugging Jaskier close and pulling a blanket over them both. 

“Of course you’re tired,” the bodyguard says with an affectionate smile. “You did well. Get some rest.”

With another small forehead kiss, the pair sinks into sleep, tangled in each other. 

——————

Jaskier wakes to an empty bed. 

Which isn’t unusual at all, he usually wakes alone. What stuck out to him, however, was the fact that he didn’t normally sleep in a plush king-sized bed, and the smell of something wonderful cooking a few rooms away. 

Sitting up, Jask sighs at the not-unpleasant throb in his muscles. The more he wakes up, the more aware he is, and his heart pounds as he realizes that _he stayed over at Geralt’s_.

Well, fuck. This isn’t good. He moves to get out of bed but groans in displeasure at the sudden strain on his muscles. He also just happened to do so right when the bedroom door opened.

“Good- you’re awake,” Geralt comments, and _fuck_ , of course, the rough timbre of his voice is even sexier and more gravelly in the morning. Jaskier gives him a sheepish look and flushes. 

Where he was so used to seeing the larger man in nicer clothing, right now he was simply wearing a black tank top and soft-looking, dark red sweats. It should not have made him so unbelievably attractive to be in such relaxed dress, and yet Jaskier’s stomach was filled with butterflies as Geralt sits down slowly on the edge of the bed. 

“How do you feel?” His rough voice is gentle and caring, and Jaskier relaxes as he leans against the headboard. 

“Sore,” he admits with a little shrug. “Not in a bad way, though. Definitely worth it.” He winks, and Geralt laughs softly. 

“Well, I hope you’re hungry. I made breakfast. I hope you like pancakes.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise, his stomach rumbling as if on cue. Geralt’s small smile gets wider, and Jaskier decides it's a good look for him. 

“Pancakes sound amazing, my dear,” Jask sighs, smiling back at him. “If I may ask, however, do you have something for me to wear? And could you grab my phone from my pants pocket?”

Geralt nods, first finding a couple of garments and then retrieving the sleek device from where it sat on the floor. Jaskier thanks him as he’s given the little pile. 

“I’ll join you in a second,” he assures, and Geralt nods. The ashen-haired man pauses, before stepping forward and kissing Jaskier softly, sweetly. It’s more intimate than their kisses tend to be, and Jaskier aches from it. Geralt pulls away with a final small peck before leaving, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

Jaskier checks his phone first- a text from Zoltan, his weekly schedule from Maria, and about 3 texts from Yennefer asking to meet up and teasing him (vaguely, of course), about Geralt again. Thank god there wasn’t an emergency. He stands slowly and puts on the clothes Geralt gave him to wear- while Jaskier is no short man, and certainly isn’t much shorter than Geralt, he’s still slim, and the white tank top hangs off of his lithe frame slightly. The worn black sweats fit him well, however, and the entire ensemble is incredibly comfortable. 

(It also smells like oil and sandalwood and something uniquely Geralt in a combination that Jaskier finds almost addictive.)

Replying quickly to his texts, he pads barefoot out of the bedroom to a small kitchen, where Geralt is still cooking. The taller man glances over and nods to a tiny round table with a chair pulled out. 

“Sit down if you like- I’m almost done.”

Jaskier does so, letting out a relieved sigh as his muscles relax again. Geralt strides over not long after, setting down a pair of plates loaded with pancakes. He sets down in front of Jaskier a glass of orange juice as well. 

“I hope you like orange juice- it’s all I have, save for water.”

Jaskier smiles shyly at him. Fuck, it’s all so incredibly domestic, isn’t it? His heart pounds. “Orange juice is perfect, thank you.”

Geralt nods and sits down across from Jaskier, digging in. Jask does the same and groans at the taste. “Hot and can cook? You must be an angel.”

Geralt laughs. “I’m glad you like it.”

Jaskier practically inhales his breakfast, flushing when he catches Geralt watching him with a soft, amused expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” he rumbles in reply. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jaskier shifts in his seat at that. “Do you mind that I stayed over? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I know with everything happening-“

“Hey.”

Jaskier looks up to find a pair of amber eyes looking at him calmly, soothingly. “I don’t mind you staying over at all, if you don’t.”

“I don’t mind, no,” Jaskier replies, and Geralt nods. 

“It was nice. To wake up with you in my arms.” The admission has Jaskier’s eyes widening with the honesty of it. 

“What if we did this again?” Jaskier offers, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, and Geralt looks like he’d been given the sun. 

“I’d like that a lot,” he finally replies, and Jaskier can’t hide the smile that blooms upon his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt: why am I doing this to myself  
> Me: you fucked this man 1 time and developed a crush. You’re fine.
> 
> Hello! Some notes for chapter 2!
> 
> By the end of this chapter, they have known each other for about 10 weeks? They’ve been texting as “friends” of sorts for about 6 of those weeks. They hooked up maybe 1-3 times a week based on schedules bc they live stressful lives and enjoy the energy release of a hookup, and then they started to catch feelings so they started to look forward to their meetings more often! They both super missed the other during their hellish 2 weeks but are too dumb to admit it!
> 
> I realized I was being vague about the timing so I hope that helped.
> 
> Also Yennefer gets to watch it all play out from both sides. She’s exhausted.
> 
> Coming up next: these two dance around each other more as the flames at their backs get hotter.
> 
> [Drop by and say hello!](https://linktr.ee/saturnsthirdeye)
> 
> [Give my beta some love!](https://mugofstars.tumblr.com/)


	3. There Is No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jaskier and Geralt dance ever closer, tensions rise around them. 
> 
> Chapter title from "Take Me To Church" by Hozier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I was planning on posting this a while ago but then my beta and I had mutual brain break for like the entire month of July so it was postponed... We're back now tho! I'm planning on updating on Sundays from now on too :)
> 
> Shoutout to my homie Wyatt - you'll know why
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy! This one's gonna be a wild ride
> 
> (Also please forgive me if I haven't responded to your comments- I'm not often on my laptop and my phone is hell in a handbasket in terms of anything ao3-related)

Geralt isn’t one to live on the edge.

Ever since he was a child, he’s simply followed the rules and did as he was told. 

When Visenna dropped him off on Vesemir’s doorstep, too young to know what was going on, she damned him to a life of following the rules… or else.

To be fair, Geralt didn’t really mind. While it was rough to learn the rules, while the other boys teased him mercilessly for being a “goody-two-shoes”, in the end, he simply was glad to have a purpose, a job to do.

It was how he met Yennefer, of course. When he was tested to prove his loyalty to make sure he _followed the rules_ , to make sure that he never broke his oath to the wolves that nipped at his heels, she was there. To patch his injuries. To be a friend. She didn’t make fun of him, and he didn’t brush her off because she had well-made clothing and top-of-the-line makeup. They were unusual kids, and they bonded through that.

But even when the rules brought him to a vicious career, brought him to Blaviken and dragged him out of it blood-soaked and shaking, he didn’t step out of line. He couldn’t afford to, of course. Even if he had been a disobedient child, the wolves watched from their shadowy corners, expecting the worst of even the most straight-laced followers.

He never thought that spitting in the face of the laws that had governed him for so long, that had threatened him every moment, would feel so _easy_.

It terrifies him, of course. He has to sneak around, has to lie to his brothers. Jaskier’s contact name will never be anything more than “J”. He fears the day he may be found out, the day that a bullet or knife may find its true mark. It keeps him up at times, but in reality, the insomnia isn’t new.

He started to sleep better once he met Jaskier.

Now, to be totally honest, the sex certainly helps. They’ve been fucking on and off for about three and a half months by now, and Geralt has often found himself too tired to conjure up his usual nightmares.

And then he caught feelings. Which was… well. 

“You’re thinking too much again,” comes a rumbly yawn from less than a foot away, and Geralt sighs. He rolls onto his side to take in the grey bedsheet sliding off of a pale, bare shoulder, mussed brown hair, sleepy blue eyes. Jaskier yawns again and curls closer, burrowing under the blankets.

“How could you tell?” Geralt muses, slinging an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pressing his lips to his forehead. This earns him a sleepy hum.

“You’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, darling. Your brain is like a computer fan, let it rest before it overheats.”

Ah right. That.

_”He’s staying over now?” Yennefer says in surprise. “Geralt…”_

_“I know,” Geralt sighs, sinking in the plush booth. “I’m dead meat.”_

_“Well, I was going to say that you haven’t been in a solid relationship for years, not since Renfri.” Geralt winces a little at the name of his old flame. “Sorry. But still. You haven’t dated for eight years, Geralt. I’m proud of you, if worried.”_

_“It’s not a relationship,” Geralt argues, and Yennefer rolls her eyes._

_“He comes over, you fuck, he stays over. You wake up together and eat breakfast together and text each other daily. And this has been going on for multiple weeks. You two sure as hell aren’t fuck buddies anymore, Geralt. Anything I’m missing?”_

_Geralt shrugged noncommittally. “He calls me pet names now…”_

_Yennefer sighs in defeat._

“Geralt? Earth to Geralt.” 

Geralt sighs in defeat and pulls him closer, curling up and tucking his face into the juncture of Jaskier’s neck. Thin, deft fingers gently tug through his long white hair, scratching gently at the shaved undercut. Geralt relaxes at the touch. 

“You alright, dear heart?” Jaskier croons and Geralt nods. 

“Just… thinking. Don’t wanna go to work.”

“Oh?”

“Hmm. Wanna stay with you.”

Jaskier makes a happy little noise and Geralt feels soft lips press against his crown. 

“You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Jaskier says gently, and Geralt can hear the steadiness of his heartbeat, the steady drag as he inhales, the rush as he exhales. Geralt’s body relaxes at the slow rhythm, the warmth of the man pressed against him seeping into his core, and he closes his eyes. He can feel sleep rush towards him as he’s held, and it all would have been perfect if it weren’t for the alarm clock going off just seconds later. 

“Fuck.” Geralt considers smashing the damned device, considers just not going, but he has a meeting that day and he can’t miss it. He smacks the snooze button, groaning as he sits up and rubs his eyes. He looks to the side and sees Jaskier looking up at him in the dark with a small smile. Geralt can’t help but lean down and kiss him softly, the hazy warmth and comfort of it counteracting the grossness of their morning breath. Jaskier’s fingers curl in his messy white hair, and Geralt lets himself get lost in the slow, heady drag of lips. 

Until his alarm goes off again. 

Jaskier laughs softly at the extremely unhappy grumble Geralt lets out at that. “Go get ready. You can kiss me again when you’re done.” Geralt gives him an annoyed look at the thought of moving at all, but he eventually stands and walks to the bathroom. He freshens up and gets dressed, putting his hair up and donning the black and white suit he has specifically for more businesslike workdays, when he’s not a bodyguard but instead a high-ranking official. 

His high status means he has to go to these meetings. It also stacks onto the guilt of the fact that he hasn’t told Jaskier yet. 

When he steps back into the bedroom, a breakfast burrito in hand, Jaskier is sitting up and scrolling through his phone. He looks up and grins wide, looking Geralt over with appreciation. 

“Goddamn. I’ve never seen you in a suit before, but holy shit. I didn’t even know you could get any hotter.” Jaskier kicked his lips, a familiar flint appearing in his eye. “It’s too bad that you have to go to work.”

Geralt snorts and inhales the rest of his breakfast, putting on his shoes and brushing his teeth. He moves to the edge of the bed, Jaskier watching him with a careful eye. 

“You will be wearing that suit again. When I can appreciate it properly,” Jaskier says in a smooth, sultry tone, and Geralt laughs softly. 

“Okay,” he says and kisses Jaskier softly before standing and waving bye. Jaskier has stayed in the apartment without Geralt before- while it’s not often that that happens, Geralt does have to work often and they’ve extended enough trust towards each other with the knowledge of the ink on their bodies. So Jaskier stays and has his own toothbrush, and when Geralt gets home the bed is always made and always smells like Jaskier. 

Maybe Yennefer was right. 

He gets onto the train, thoughts of Jaskier filling his mind, how maybe... maybe they are dating? He’s never dealt with a situation like this before, his last relationship being relatively straightforward, to begin with. 

He didn’t feel the same spark in his chest when he was with Renfri, however. 

Geralt is forced out of his thoughts as he reaches his stop. He gets out and heads inside, relaxing as he sees Eskel and Lambert waiting for the elevators. 

“Hey, Geralt!” Lambert waves him over, and Eskel gives him a welcoming smile. 

“Rare we see you dressed up like this these days,” Eskel comments, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

“That’s because I have a real job,” Geralt retorts, and Lambert shoves him. 

“At least our lives are exciting,” his brother retorts, and that earns Lambert a retaliatory shove. 

Geralt has known Eskel since they were kids. The mob spared no one, and when their parents owed, oftentimes they were killed (such as Eskel’s folks), or gave up their kid as a price since they couldn’t afford it (such was the case of Geralt and Visenna, who owed so much money that she used her own son as collateral). These children went to Kaer Morhen, a school and orphanage of sorts. Geralt and Eskel met at just 4 years old, bonding as brothers under the watchful eye of Vesemir. At 11 they met 7-year-old Lambert, and at 15 the school was attacked, a group of assassins killing everyone in the building save for the four who managed to escape. These four were Eskel, Lambert, and Geralt himself. Amongst the 

From there Vesemir took them in as his own sons and they grew close. 

They grew up as assassins themselves, the trio known to be some of the best killers ever trained. 

Until the day Geralt’s hands dripped with so much blood, and the nightmares threatened to drown him, and he became a bodyguard. 

He kept his rank, however. The three of them rose to be some of Emhyr’s most trusted, and that’s how a Geralt got such a well-off job guarding only the most important people. 

“Know what this meeting is about?” Lambert asks as they file into the elevator. 

Eskel shrugs. “Heard we might have another leg up on the roses. Considering how they managed to kill Reef and tried to go after Fringilla not long ago, I’m sure Emhyr is itching for some sort of penalty.”

Geralt winced inwardly at that, at both the mention of yet another death and the thought of an attack on Lettenhove. Where he normally would not care what became of those roses, he desperately hoped that the day where Jaskier was a casualty never arrived. 

They reach their floor and file into a conference room, with about 5 other spies, assassins, and high-ranking informants sat. At the head of the table sat Emhyr var Emreis himself, looking unhappy. 

They had arrived exactly as the clock struck for the meeting to begin, and the triad quickly sat down. Emhyr stood, eyes sharp. 

“I’m not going to sugarcoat or waste our time. Since the attack on Fringilla Vigo, the Lettenhove Organization has been pushing their boundaries more and more by the day. We’ve held off for too long, and we have to put an end to this.” Emhyr crosses his arms with a stony expression. “Any ideas? Any updates?”

It barely takes a second before Cynthia slams her hand on the table, grinning victoriously. “I think we can finally take out the Lettenhove family.”

The room erupts into madness. Geralt’s eyes widen- if the Lettenhove family, the title given to the head of their organization and their heirs, is killed, that means-

“Everyone be quiet!” Emhyr orders, and the room falls into a hush quickly. He looks at Cynthia with wide eyes. “Is this true?”

“Yes, sir,” she says quickly. “One of our spies has managed to confirm their exact location in two weeks’ time. They’re traveling to their summer home. Stefan has managed to get close to their family butler and can give us frequent updates. They have no clue. We could finally end it.”

Once again, the room erupts into noise at the thought of finally ending the decade-long, violent feud between the two massive gangs. Geralt’s stomach drops at the implications. With the feud over, he could finally be able to be with Jaskier. Without sneaking around, without risking their lives. They could be free. 

The rest of the meeting is a blur to Geralt- they are to meet irregularly for the next two weeks, and all other plans are unmentioned for privacy. They aim to look into it, Emhyr says, and they’ve barely left when Eskel and Lambert get twin texts telling them to meet again in the next half hour. 

“Can you believe it?” Lambert exclaims, excitement in his voice. “We could finally end this feud!”

“I think we may actually have a quick and easy plan, should no one spill their guts,” Eskel replies, but the same edge was in his tone. 

“It’s... it’s insane,” is all Geralt can say, and they agree. 

Two weeks’ time. Geralt’s heart thuds as he thinks about it. Then everything may finally fit into place. 

——————

Jaskier is no stranger to nightmares. 

They don’t plague him often, he supposes. They used to be worse. Visions of blood and gore and viscera staining his bare hands. Of screams and moans of pain. 

They would haunt his waking hours, which isn’t hard considering. Well. Considering his lifestyle. He’s capable of shutting it down, of turning off, of becoming cold. And when the sun set, he would flit about at clubs and sip his pretty drinks and fuck strangers. Get drunk and get laid, night after night. Usually, he didn’t get super drunk until after the sex, consent and all, but it was fun. 

And then he met Geralt and his sweet amber eyes and ox’s build and amazing cooking and shitty memes and honestly huge cock, and he may have fallen in love a bit. He often finds himself thinking about that low voice when he speaks, the soft look Geralt gives him when he raves about his food, the soft kisses they share in the dead of night. It makes his heart pound and his stomach flutter and his head go all weird. He feels like he’s addicted. He finds he doesn’t need alcohol when he can just get drunk on the affection of the sugar-sweet mountain of a man. 

Jaskier trusts him. 

In the dead of night, after a slow fuck and affectionate kisses, Jaskier awakes with a shout. 

His whole body shivers as the visions of blood and gore and death, so much death, fade behind his eyes. He trembles and he feels sick but won’t vomit, he never does, and the scream dies on his throat. Sweat sticks to his skin and he’s cold, too cold, where is he, what’s going on-

“-skier! Jaskier.”

Geralt’s voice filters through the haze, the white noise, and Jaskier looks at him with big blue eyes. Geralt isn’t touching him, won’t touch him first, doesn’t want to scare him. 

“It’s just a nightmare. Jaskier. You’re okay.”

Jaskier’s chest heaves, and he bursts into tears, throwing his arms around Geralt’s middle as he breaks down. Geralt’s strong arms wrap around his shoulders, calloused hands smoothing up and down his back. He’s dressed in Geralt’s shirt, the soft cotton and coolly musky scent helping to soothe his senses. Geralt holds him close, gently shushing him, even humming a low tune for a bit. They rock in the dark, and this time their rhythmic movements are for comfort, not sex. It’s so similar, yet so different, Jaskier thinks distantly, as the world starts to fill in around him. He pulls away to look at Geralt in the dim light, and Geralt cups his face with one hand. 

“You alright?” He asks, and Jaskier takes in the stretching scar over his eye, the messy hair, the sweet concern in his eyes. A calloused thumb smooths across his cheekbone and Jaskier leans into the touch. 

“Yeah... I am now,” Jaskier whispers, and his eyes slip shut as a kiss is pressed to his forehead. 

“Think you can sleep?” Jaskier nods and he’s maneuvered down carefully so his head is resting on Geralt’s chest, a large hand gently brushing over his brain hair. He can hear Geralt’s heartbeat under his ear, slow and strong, and he slowly falls into slumber. 

He wakes to the sunrise, eyes opening slowly to see Geralt still asleep. His heart flutters- he never wakes before Geralt. The man looks so much younger in sleep. His grey-white hair and beard make him look much older than Jaskier knows he is, but in sleep, he looks so young. He looks like the 30-year-old that he is, and Jaskier’s chest constricts as he realizes just how _beautiful_ he is. 

That morning, he can’t take his eyes off Geralt. He’s made himself a space in Geralt’s home, from the blue toothbrush on the bathroom counter to the blanket he brought that sits on the back of the worn black couch. And Geralt is so at ease with it, taking down the box of cereal Jaskier likes and setting it on the counter, gently touching Jaskier’s shoulder as he walks behind him. They’ve developed a rhythm, a system, and it’s so domestic Jaskier’s chest aches with it as he watches Geralt read something on his phone, feeling the slightly-too-big shirt slide across his skin. 

He thinks he may truly be in love. 

——————

The attack is in five day’s time. 

Geralt knew nothing of the logistics, nor who would act. He figured that Eskel and Lambert would be on the team- known to be the best killers the Wolf Pack has ever reared, they often took care of only the highest-level threats. 

It itches beneath his skin, the want to tell someone, anyone, but that’s not his job. Every word said was a drop of blood spilled. And as much as he wanted to tell Yennefer about it, as much as he ached to share with her the news that he may finally be able to kiss Jaskier in public, be able to take him out on dates, he couldn’t. 

Confidentiality was a bitch at times.

What made this whole thing tricky was that he didn’t know Jaskier’s profession, nor did he aim to ask. They kept their work lives as private as they could, for safety. He knows a good portion of the names of the higher-ranking individuals, however, so he suspects that Jaskier may have a lower job. It would explain his more flexible hours, too. He doesn’t want him in the potential crossfire in case he just happens to be working in the same space. 

Geralt sighs then freezes as an idea comes to mind. 

——————

Jaskier is washing his hands when his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

He dries them off and looks at his screen, flushing at the text from Geralt on his screen. 

**Hot Stuff: still want to see me in that suit? Come over Thursday evening. 7 pm.**

Jaskier glances over his calendar. He sort of has plans but... they’re unimportant. He can go the next day. 

He sends Geralt a little “I’ll be there”, and so what if he tacks a little heart to the end of the message? He also sends a text to Suzanna, and voilà, his evening is free. 

Glancing at his watch, he makes an executive decision and sends Yennefer a text. 

**Me: wanna go shopping? I need a new tux**

The text comes less than two minutes later. 

**Light of my Life: Come to Aretuza, I’ll be ready in 15.**

——————

Geralt breathes a sigh of relief at the text. 

Things may finally be okay. 

——————

On Thursday evening, Jaskier shifts nervously as he fiddles with his bow tie. He adores what he bought- a baby blue tux with an even paler yellow dress shirt underneath, and a brighter blue bow tie. Dangly sapphires and gold drip from his ears, and a matching gold ring sits neatly on his middle finger. 

He loves how he looks, but... something about tonight feels different. 

He’s never dressed up for Geralt before. Obviously, he’s dressed up for the club, and Geralt has seen him in everything from club clothes to sweatpants to nothing at all. He knows that he’ll like it but...

This may be the first time they’ve had a true date before. 

At least, he thinks it’s a date. It must be, considering he’s dressed up and Geralt promised him a surprise. Either way, his hands are trembling with anticipation as he steps out of his car, the one he rarely drives but he can’t resist, not when his tux is so beautiful with its gold trim and soft fabric. He makes his way up to Geralt’s apartment, tapping lightly on the wood. 

When it opens, Jaskier almost gasps. He’s seen Geralt in a suit before, the black and white fabric gorgeous with his pale hair. But now it’s clear that Geralt put in more effort, his beard freshly trimmed, his hair in a pretty little bun behind his head. 

“Come in,” Geralt invites, clearly a tad sheepish, and Jaskier does. The second the door closes, he pulls on Geralt’s black tie and kisses him. Geralt sighs against his lips and lets himself be pressed against the wall, large hands settling on Jaskier’s lower back. The kiss starts to become a bit heated and Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dark with wanting. 

“I made dinner,” he admits, and Jaskier feels a warmth bloom in his chest. He presses a sweet kiss to Geralt’s lips and smiles. 

“Lead the way.”

Geralt takes his hand shyly and leads him to the kitchen, where a nice soup is sitting in two bowls, and a salad sits in a smaller bowl close by. A single white rose sits in a little vase next to a tea candle, and a beautiful white wine bottle sits in the middle. Jaskier gasps slightly. 

“You did all of this? For me?” He breathes, and Geralt squeezes his hand. 

“I wanted to give you a proper date. I hope it’s alright,” he grumbles, and Jaskier kisses his cheek. 

“You’re amazing, darling. I love it.”

He sits down, and honestly? Geralt is a brilliant cook, he’s said it before. The soup is lobster bisque, sweet and buttery, the salad crunchy and fresh. He sips his wine as he finishes his meal and catches Geralt’s eye, flushing when he realizes that he’s been watched for a bit now. 

“Something on my face?” Jaskier jokes, and Geralt shrugs. 

“Bought you something,” he admits, and slides a tiny box across the table. Heart thudding, Jaskier opens it, and gasps at the little buttercup pin inside. 

“I know your name- It means buttercup. I hope you like it...” Geralt stammers, and Jaskier almost cries. He carefully pulls it out of the box and stands, kneeling next to Geralt’s chair. 

“Put it on me?” He asks, and Geralt obliges, carefully pinning the little piece of jewelry to his lapel. Jaskier looks down sighs happily- it matches beautifully. 

He looks up at Geralt and his heart feels full to burst. 

“I love you,” he blurts and flushes as Geralt’s eyes widen. “Shit- I mean, I know it’s early, it’s really early, and I don’t expect you to say it back, you don’t have to, but. I want you to know.”

Geralt’s shock seems to fade, and Jaskier’s heart pounds less frantically as Geralt pulls him into a gentle kiss. 

“Thank you,” Geralt whispers against his mouth, and Jaskier’s heart soars. With a glass of wine buzzing in his system and a thumping heart, he pulls Geralt to the bedroom. Jaskier pushes him down onto the bed and Geralt gasps, looking up at him with dark gold eyes as Jaskier climbs on top of him. 

“You’ve done so many good things for me tonight,” he whispers between kisses, “let me take care of you.” Geralt nods, hands smoothing up his back. 

Jaskier takes his time, unbuttoning the buttons of Geralt’s suit slowly as he slides his tongue across the seam of his lover’s mouth. Geralt squirms beneath his touch, fingers curling in Jaskier’s hair. 

Jaskier kisses down Geralt’s neck, the scratch of his beard causing his lips to tingle pleasantly. He finally gets Geralt’s shirt and jacket off and drapes it carefully over the edge of the footboard, undoing his zipper and taking him in hand. Geralt groans lowly beneath him, back arching as Jaskier smooths the pad of his thumb over the tip, as he twists his wrist in the way that he knows will wring a gasp from Geralt’s lips. 

“Fuck, Jaskier-“ Geralt gasps shakily, biting his lip. Jaskier nips at the smooth skin over his pulse point, soothing it with his tongue. 

“Remember, baby, you’re mine tonight,” Jaskier purrs, squeezing lightly. Geralt moans, his eyes fluttering shut as Jaskier moves his hand faster. 

“Get those clothes off,” Geralt stammers, and Jaskier chuckles, peeling himself out of his tux slowly, teasing. Geralt watches with hungry eyes as each button is _slowly_ undone, each piece of fabric _slowly_ sliding off of him until he’s kneeling nude in front of his partner. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Geralt mumbles as he pulls Jaskier back on top of him, kicking off his own pants with abandon. Jaskier laughs against his lips and grinds his hips down against Geralt’s thigh, moaning softly. Geralt rolls his hips up to meet him, and they rock together slowly. Jaskier shivers and gropes blindly for the nightstand, opening the drawer and digging out the lube and a condom. He reaches back and licks his lips, smirking as Geralt shivers under his gaze. His thighs spread for him, gold eyes heady and wanting, pupils blown. 

“Look at you,” Jaskier hums, slicking his fingers. “So pretty and spread out for me.”

“Get on with it,” Geralt says, voice strained, and Jaskier laughs. 

“Play nice, sugar,” he scolds playfully but gives him what he wants anyway, slipping a finger into him slowly. Geralt gasps at the intrusion, shivering, and Jaskier covers his face in soft kisses.

“You’re doing beautifully, darling,” he croons after rocking his finger in and out for a bit, slowly pressing a second finger in to join. “So good for me.”

Geralt groans at the praise, rocking slowly to meet the thrusts of his fingers. “Jaskier...” he gasps, earning himself a slow, open kiss as Jaskier searches for his prostate. Geralt jolts when he hits it, when his fingers press against the thick bundle of nerves. Jaskier relishes in the broken noise of need that escapes Geralt’s lips and watches in awe as his eyebrows furrow and sweat drips down his brow. Jaskier slides in a third finger and hits that spot, again and again, watching his tough, strong lover fall apart beneath him. 

“Jas, Jas _please_ ,” Geralt chants like a prayer, and Jaskier snaps a little, pulling his fingers out with a slick noise. Geralt whines deep in his throat at the loss and Jaskier shushes him gently, nibbles his ear and whispers sweet praise as he rolls on the rubber and slicks himself up. 

Squeezing Geralt’s strong thighs, he lines his cock up and pushes into him slowly, slowly. The bigger man gasps beneath him and Jaskier kisses slowly up his neck. “Good, good,” he whispers as he rolls his hips ever so slowly. “Look at you, you’re so beautiful, Geralt. So beautiful and all mine, darling. Oh, how I adore you.”

He bottoms out and Geralt clutches the sheets, chest heaving as he catches his breath. After a while of desperately regaining oxygen, Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hips with his thighs. 

“Please, Jas,” he whines, and how can he resist such a pretty request? Jaskier rolls his hips slowly, out and slowly back in, again and again. The languid pace is almost punishing, wringing pleasure out of them both slowly, thoroughly. Geralt pulls Jaskier down again for a kiss and he obliges, cupping a scarred cheek with one hand as the other clutches Geralt’s hand. 

The larger man starts to rock down and Jaskier meets him, their pace becoming faster, stronger, punched-out little sounds being released from deep in Geralt’s throat as he’s pounded into. 

“So good for me, baby,” Jaskier croons just as he hits Geralt’s prostate, and with an arch of his back Geralt comes untouched, a loud moan filling the room. Jaskier squeezes his hand and rocks his hips, his movements stuttering as he spills in the condom. He collapses on top of Geralt, their hands still intertwined and a calloused palm smoothing down Jaskier’s spine. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to get up early for work tomorrow,” Jaskier pants, pressing a kiss to the wolf over Geralt’s heart. Geralt hums, voice rougher than normal. 

“Then just come over again soon,” came the grumbly reply, and Jaskier smiles. 

“You miss me that much?” Jaskier asks, kissing his cheek, and Geralt gives him a soft look. 

“Always.”

Jaskier kisses him softly at that, whispering a soft, sweet “I love you” against his lips before pulling away. 

He pulls out and cleans them both up, heart rabbiting in his chest at the look of adoration in Geralt’s eyes. He dresses, almost hesitant, and sighs. 

“Next time I come over, have fun getting rid of me,” he says softly, and Geralt stands slowly, approaching and kissing his forehead. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it any other way.”

Jaskier’s warm the entire drive home. Fuck, is this what love is? What it feels like? He feels like bursting. 

As he pulls onto his street, his blood runs cold. 

Red and blue lights flood his vision as he frantically parks on the side of the road. Rushing out of his car, he runs to the swath of police cars outside of the building, his unbuttoned jacket flapping in the breeze. 

“What’s going on? Why are you here? What happened?” He demands, but a cop puts her hand on his chest. He knows that they know who his family is- he also knows that they wouldn’t sell them out. Both gangs have bought out the police force so much that they wouldn’t dare get involved. 

Save for-

“Are you Julian Alfred Pancratz?”

“Yes. I am. Now tell me what the fuck is going on!” He demands, ice in his veins. The lady cop frowns. 

“Sir, I’m afraid that your family. They’ve been-“

Murdered. 

He pushes past her, and she lets him as he goes crashing into the house, as he sees blood on linoleum and lifeless blue eyes. As he sees his family, the Pancratz clan, the head of the Lettenhove Organization, dead at his feet. 

He screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry
> 
> [Feel free to yell at me](https://linktr.ee/saturnsthirdeye)
> 
> [Feel free to support my beta as she puts up with my bullshit](https://mugofstars.tumblr.com/)


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